


Long and Lost

by apostate_anima



Category: Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them (Movies)
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Friends to Lovers, Friendship/Love, PTSD, Post-Movie 1: Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them, Post-Movie(s), Romance, Sexual Content, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-12-24
Updated: 2017-02-05
Packaged: 2018-09-11 07:28:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 19,670
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8968021
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/apostate_anima/pseuds/apostate_anima
Summary: Percival Graves’ life took a turn for the worse. Everything he worked for was abruptly pulled from under his feet, his life stolen by the dark wizard Grindelwald. Though the path to recovery promises to be long and tedious, he gradually finds solace in a fellow survivor of Grindelwald's nefarious actions. However, Graves soon finds out that, though Grindelwald may be locked up, his machinations are all but over.UPDATE 4/7/2017: I have not forgotten this fic! I am just currently in Mass Effect Andromeda hell!





	1. Hurt

Time was lost to him. Months? Yes, it had been months, of that he was sure. Two or three? He couldn’t be sure yet, his mind was still a jumble to properly think on such details. Even now when he woke with a startle, eyes wide and alarmed as he inspected the foreign room he was in, he nearly forgot he had been rescued and taken to the hospital. It was all a blur, really. All of this was so surreal, he was still thinking it was another one of Grindelwald’s illusions to keep him disoriented. He was tense, waiting for the illusion to break down at any moment and bring him back to his prison cell...Yet it didn’t. This reality remained.

 

The senior auror was idly lost in his troubled thoughts, staring up at the charmed ceiling portraying the morning sky, when he was met by a strange woman walking into his room, serving a potion in a glass and setting it on his bedside table.

 

“Morning, Mr. Graves,” she instantly stood straight, an anxious smile on her face, “I’m one of the nurses, Miss Devlin. Just here to give you your mending potion, sir.”

 

He merely glared at her before attempting to sit up in a hurry, wincing loudly in pain when he found his body protested quite adamantly.

 

“Sir, your state is very delicate at the moment!” the nurse gasped, making to help him, “Please, stay in bed.”

 

With a dismissive wave of his hand at her offer, he shook his head, frustrated, fuming through his nose and avoiding her gaze.

 

“Sir, please, you must drink your potion, I’ll help you.”

 

“No!” his voice was hoarse from disuse but his tone was nonetheless scathing.

 

“It’s alright, Lucy, leave it to me,” a new voice surprised him, turning his attention to the dark-haired woman who had just casually walked in. British, he thought, having taken note of the slight accent to her voice.

 

Dark, angular eyes studied him carefully before settling on the nurse. Lime-green robes licked the edge of her boots, deducing then that she must be a healer. Despite her rather petite frame she gave off an air of authority, a stern yet calm expression on her sharp features.

 

“Madam Huang,” the nurse greeted her, “Sorry, madam. I’m sure I can help, let me–”

 

“Lucy, it’s alright, really,” Madam Huang interrupted her, offering a small smile, “We’ll talk later.”

 

“Madam.”

 

With that Miss Devlin excused herself, letting the dark-haired woman alone with Percival. Madam Huang turned her full attention to him then, dark eyes calmly inspecting him.

 

“I know it’s difficult at this point, but try not to hold it against our matrons and nurses, they’re just doing their job, Mr. Graves.”

 

Silently he glared, refusing to speak.

 

“Sorry, we met, but you were in a much critical state, don’t suppose you remember me much,” she began, walking closer to his bedside, “Constance Huang, I am your healer and healer-in-charge of this ward–Spell Damage. You are at New England Magical Hospital, and the day is December 7, 1926 about...9:46 am.”

 

She was met with more silence.

 

“I know. You have no reason to trust me, or much of my personnel either. Or much of anyone, yes?” yet, despite his glaring through tired, tormented eyes, she kept her gaze, unwavering and unafraid, “Mr. Graves, what happened to you was obviously terrible, deplorable even, and sincerely, I cannot begin to imagine what you are feeling at this moment. However, I want to let you know I’ll do everything in my power to help you get back on your feet. Now, it won’t be easy. The physical damage, that’s easy to fix. But the damage to the mind, Mr. Graves, that takes time...I’m telling you this so that you know what to expect, so that we all may remain patient.”

 

“...”

 

“Well, I suppose that’s all I wanted to clear with you at the moment. Visitors should be arriving soon,” she paused when he raised a suspicious eyebrow at that, “Yes, Mr. Graves, you’ve got quite the amount of people worried sick. People who want to see you recover, so–”

 

With that, she took the glass with the potion and pointedly stared at him.

 

“– _please_ , allow me to help you,” her tone was gentle but firm, as she attempted to get a little trust from him, “Drink the potion, Mr. Graves. It’s not poison–” she tasted it for him, “Hm, see? Won’t lie, it tastes awful. However, I can only do so much with my magic on your internal damage. This will help the process along, hence shorten your hospital stay...Well?”

 

For a long moment he was silent, eyes darting from her eyes to the glass in her hands. What’s the worst that could happen, he thought. Death? He was already ready for it, was sure it would come. No, death would be a mercy. The _worst_ that could happen would be for this to be an illusion, after all.

 

 _‘Well,’_ he pondered, _‘Only one way to find out…’_

 

Finally, he sighed heavily and nodded. With his permission granted, she approached him, warning him that she would lift the bed head so that he may lie comfortably in a semi-sitting position to be able to drink.

 

Percival lifted his hand to grab the glass–scars from the magical bindings visibly still healing–and found his hands shaking. He grunted in frustration, trying to control the tremors.

 

“That will stop in time, Mr. Graves. You are still too weak. Here–” she placed a tentative hand on his shoulder, “–I’ll help you,” and brought the glass close to his lips.

 

He glared most intensely at that, looking at her offended even.

 

Constance sighed, a stern look in her eyes, “There’s no need to look at me like that, I am not trying to shame you. I am trying to help you, Mr. Graves.”

 

Resigning himself, he allowed her to dip the glass forward against his lips. Thankfully, she was patient, as she tilted it ever so gently against his lips so that he didn’t choke with too much liquid all of a sudden. Once he was finished he coughed, trying to repress his face of disgust at the foul taste.

 

“Tastes awful, I know,” she commented idly, standing back up straight, “Your next potion is at 5 o’clock. Anything else you need at the moment?”

 

Momentarily he stared back at her before simply turning his head away from her general direction.

 

“Then I’ll leave you to rest,” she deadpanned and with that she was gone.

 

So perhaps this wasn’t an illusion, after all. Perhaps, he’d gotten a second chance at life. One, he thought, maybe he didn’t deserve. How, when he had failed so miserably to protect MACUSA from the most dangerous dark wizard in ages? But above all, it hurt so much more to know he could be imitated to such a degree, that no one seemed to suspect it wasn’t him until months later...

* * *

It wasn’t long before visiting hours came around. In the meantime he had found out that two aurors were stationed outside his room for his protection, and that he was truly wholly unkempt. His hair had grown past the edge of his jaw, and his beard was all but a mess. However, he had no desire to see his face–the face that was _stolen_ –for the time being. For now, he could resign himself to lose his sleek and well-groomed look.

 

A knock on the door distracted him from his thoughts, turning his head to see Goldstein standing at the doorway. Despite the distance he could clearly see her eyes were shiny with unshed tears, her brow pulled in worry. Gods, he was afraid, that he couldn’t deny. He had yet to find out what that bastard Grindelwald had done in his stead…

 

“Mr. Graves,” Tina started, carefully, tentatively, “May I come in?”

 

He sighed before slowly nodding.

 

Silently she walked towards his bedside, pulling up a chair to sit by his side. A heavy silence fell between them, both unsure of what to say first. Finally, Tina cleared her throat, deciding to start first.

 

“Umm, Madam Picquery will be here soon,” she said, “Would you...I don’t know if you want me to tell you what happened, or we could wait for her...But, sir, if anything, I’m just...so relieved you’re alive. Madam Huang really is a miracle worker, I mean, it’s only been a week, but I swear it looks like you’re already gaining weigh–”

 

“Tina,” he interrupted her, his voice barely above a whisper, closing his eyes in silent exasperation, “Tina. Stop.”

 

“S-sorry, sir. So…”

 

“To you,” he rasped, and Tina pulled her brow in confusion, not understanding what he meant, “What did I do to you?”

 

“Oh...No. _No_ , Mr. Graves, _you_ didn’t do anything, alright?”

 

“Tina…”

 

“With all due respect, sir,” she took in a deep breath, leaning forward in her seat, “I want you to remember none of this was your fault. It was Grindelwald’s. He used your identity, yes, but it wasn’t you. I-If anything,” she closed her eyes momentarily, as if trying to hold back her tears, “If anything, I should be the one to apologize, I...I realized something was _wrong_ too late...I’m so sorry, sir…” tears escaped her then, and she hurriedly and furiously wiped at her eyes, “...Sorry…”

 

Graves sighed, staring up at the ceiling instead. Despite her words, he still blamed himself, after all he had failed his team, had failed MACUSA, had lost to the dark wizard and his defeat allowed this infiltration. _His_ failure, the full consequences of which were still a mystery to him. But worst of all, to think, to even imagine that no one, not a single person suspected that he seemed _off_ for months...That was a pain he could not even begin to describe. He needed to hear the whole story, he _needed_ all the details of these months that were stolen from him.

 

As if on cue, Madam Picquery arrived then, closing the door behind her. Tina hurriedly stood to which Seraphina held up a hand, indicating for the auror to be at ease.

 

“Percival…” she began, standing next to Tina, looking down at him, “It’s good to actually see you again, old friend…”

 

Closing his eyes, he breathed in harshly through his nose before saying, “Just...Tell me everything.”

* * *

 

Percival took his time digesting the horrible information he was given. Demoting Tina, manipulating the Barebone boy, condemning Tina and Theseus Scamander’s younger brother to _execution_ , and nearly causing a full-blown war between wizardkind and no-maj...Throwing a forearm over his eyes, he let out a shaky sigh, his thoughts tormented by what he believed to be the consequences of his failure.

 

“Percival...Tina is right, this wasn’t your fault,” Madam Picquery reiterated, her voice firm, “We all owe you an apology–”

 

“Stop…” he seethed through gritted teeth, taking in shaky breaths, “Just...Stop...I want to be alone now…”

 

Seraphina and Tina looked at each other worriedly before nodding. After urging Goldstein to go on ahead, the president remained behind, pulling something out from her coat.

 

“I thought you might want these back,” she placed the object on his bedside table, though he still refused to remove the arm draped over his eyes, “Your wand is impounded as evidence. You’ll have it back soon...Keep resting, Percival, we’ll keep visiting.”

  
He remained quiet and waited for Picquery’s footsteps to fade and for the door to close again. Once she was gone he turned his attention to the object she had left behind–his emerald-encrusted scorpion pins. A simple accessory, but one with heavy sentimental value, as they had once belonged to his grandfather before he passed. Percival let out a quivering breath as he held the pin set, his emotions finally getting the best of him as tears flowed freely down his cheeks. Overwhelmed by the horrors he’d survived through, the despicable actions done with his identity, by the knowledge that he had been copied without anyone noticing, and for all those hurt, those who believed it had been truly him hurting them. He, who had sworn to protect wizardkind, to avoid conflict with no-maj folk, he who–despite his cold exterior–deeply cared, and would never harm an innocent or manipulate them into pushing any deviant agenda forward...Percival Graves felt truly _sick_ then, he could not imagine he would have his position back after all of this...how could he? How could MACUSA trust him again? How could _anyone_?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welp, tried to resist but got really inspired to start fic writing again! No idea how many chapters I will do, for now all I have is timeline of what I have planned out but no idea how many chapters that will sum up into lol. Mostly writing as self-indulgence but feedback is welcomed and appreciated! 
> 
> PS. Yes, Madam Huang's faceclaim is Lucy Liu uvu


	2. Only

Percival knew he would get interrogated about his disgrace eventually. Given his recovery would take time, they interviewed him in his private room at the hospital. An interview led by the Interim Director of Magical Security, Agnes Abbott. A woman who, despite her qualifications and excellent record, he could not stand. While he was authoritative and calculating, so was he reasonable and merciful. In a true detective fashion, he honored having clear answers and logical motivations before he made any decision in any case. Then there was Agnes...A senior auror, she’d served as the head of the Federal Bureau of Covert Vigilance and No-Maj Obliviation (or F.B.C.V.N.O.) for as long as he’d been Director of Magical Security. Before that he’d worked in the field with her when he was a senior auror and since then he’d found conflict in their differing styles. She was always too eager to get cases closed _fast_ , which in his view could end up with the wrong people accused–shoddy work. To say the least, the fact that she was Interim Director of Magical Security at the moment, well...it didn’t thrill him in the least. Much to his dismay, he was sure he would lose his position, despite what Picquery may argue on the contrary. Yet, he didn’t desire to see such a trigger-happy person keep his position.

 

“Remind me again, Percival–” Abbott began before she was curtly cut by Graves.

 

“Graves.”

 

She snorted, “ _Mr._ Graves. Remind me again, how does the most notorious dark wizard manage to defeat you?”

 

 _‘Here we go,’_ inwardly he groaned, rolling his eyes.

 

“A top notch duelist, an expert in nonverbal _and_ wandless magic, and a well-practiced occlumens? Which brings me to my next point: how _did_ he break through your occlumency?”

 

Merlin’s beard, he could practically smell the smugness flowing out of her pores. The woman could not be more obvious that all she wished to do was discredit him.

 

“You said it yourself, Abbott, the bastard is notorious,” he avoided her gaze, distracting himself with the charmed ceiling, illusionary snow falling, displaying the changing seasons on the outside, “I already told you everything, what more do you want?”

 

“I’m just being thorough, Percival–”

 

“Graves.”

 

“Graves,” she rolled her eyes dramatically, “I want every single, tiny detail. I want to make sure this does not happen again. We’re living in dangerous times, after all. And while Grindelwald is locked up, his followers are still active and committing atrocities in the name of their cause.”

 

“...Get Madam Huang.”

 

Agnes smirked, quirking an eyebrow, “Have I made you nauseous?”

 

“No, I’m getting you what you want,” he deadpanned, pushing himself up to a sitting position.

 

She scoffed, staring at him before finally standing and striding towards the door, “You look miserable, by the way, might do you well to clean up a bit.”

 

Oh by the Gods, if he did indeed return to his position, this woman was in for _hell_ . Yes, she was hard to work with, but she was practically _pushing_ him to file a complaint against her work ethics. Seemed she was so sure he would be fired that she was behaving without consequence against someone who could technically go back to being her superior.

 

“Mr. Graves?”

 

Madam Huang’s voice pulled him from his thoughts, turning his gaze towards her, ignoring Abbott stalking right behind her.

 

“I need a bottle, please, if you may,” his tone was courteous with her, a stark contrast to the scathing one he’d used against Abbott.

 

She quirked an eyebrow yet fetched one from the bag strapped to the belt she wore, “Just a bottle?”

 

He nodded, taking it from her hand and removing the cork. Holding the bottle in one hand, he brought his index finger to his temple, closing his eyes as he concentrated. He whirled his finger then, a shining string of light collecting around the tip of his finger. Once he retrieved the memory he needed, he deposited it in the bottle, corking it closed and placing it on his bedside table.

 

“There. Have _fun_ ,” he spat at Abbott, “I think you’ll have all the _tiny_ details you want in there.”

 

“Mr. Graves…” Madam Huang frowned, concern drawn all over her features.

 

“You may leave us, healer,” Abbott dismissed her carelessly, moving around her to collect the bottle.

 

“No, she may not,” he pointedly looked at Madam Huang, silently asking her not to leave. Once she nodded and stayed by his side, he went on, “What _more_ do you want, Agnes?”

 

Staring down at the bottle in her hand, she pursed her lips before looking at Percival again, “Nothing. That’s all for now, Mr. Graves.”

 

With that, she turned on her heel, not even bothering to excuse herself with the healer-in-charge, closing the door behind her.

 

Once the Interim Director was gone, Constance turned to Percival, asking, “Mr. Graves, if I may?”

 

He nodded.

 

“That woman is absolutely _repulsive_ ,” she hissed under her breath, her expression contorted in disgust. However, she was surprised by a mild laugh escaping Percival, to which she quirked an amused eyebrow. Progress, she thought, good progress–the man barely talked two weeks ago, “So you agree?”

 

“Of course, I agree, I’ve worked with the harpy since I was a senior auror,” he shook his head, running his hands through his hair, “If that woman takes my position, she’s gonna fill up the prisons with innocent people, I’m sure of it.”

 

“It looked like she wanted to break you,” she pointed out, crossing her arms over her chest, “One more minute alone with her and I was right about ready to intervene. I don’t stand for anyone agitating my patients–”

 

“I wasn’t agitated.”

 

“Agitating, bothering, distracting from the purpose of being hospitalized,” she retorted, “Point is, Mr. Graves, I’m here to help my patients, not allow outside forces to destabilise them.”

 

Percival sighed, cracking his sore neck, “I know, I know. And hospitals have rules too. But given the _huge_ security breach this implied…”

 

Constance was silent for a moment, staring at him as he got lost in his thoughts, staring down at his hands. Gods, if she recognised that look...It tore her apart. She may not technically know him, but she knew enough so far, and she _knew_  that self-destructive guilt…

 

“I understand. Otherwise, I wouldn’t have allowed it until you were discharged,” she sighed, “Now, I do think it was reckless to give her a memory. With that attitude, she hardly deserved it, even if she’s working in your stead.”

 

“Is that your professional opinion or your personal one?” he retorted, finally looking up at her from where he sat.

 

“Take it as a bit of both,” she said, her eyes suddenly glancing up at the clock, mildly widening, “Merlin’s beard, I should be checking up on the rest of my patients. If you would excuse me, Mr. Graves, I’ll be seeing you later. Please, rest up.”

 

He nodded, laying back down, staring after her as she approached the door.

 

“Madam Huang?”

 

Pausing in her steps, she turned to face him again, a questioning look on her features, “Yes?”

 

“Thank you,” he declared sincerely.

 

“For what?” her brow pulled in confusion.

 

“Well, all you’ve done to help me, I know it’s your job but–” he shrugged before continuing, “And for staying, just now, when Agnes dismissed you. I admit I was getting tired and irritated being alone with her incessant questions.”

 

A small smile drew itself upon her lips then before she nodded in understanding, “Of course, Mr. Graves. It’s my pleasure.”

* * *

A fool. That’s what he was now, nothing but a fool. To think, to even imagine he thought Agnes’ interrogation had been the worst part so far of his hospital stay. No. His family visiting was the worst thing. Particularly his father. He had always been a difficult man to deal and relate with, but he progressively got worse with age. At this point he had to give it to Madam Huang. She was right, the negative environment some of his visitors brought affected a patient’s recovery. Especially after the _hell_ he had lived through. The hell that kept him up at night, that gnawed and clawed at him in his nightmares, that made him paranoid and distrusting, that broke his confidence…If only they understood.

 

On the first visit he felt sorry for Madam Huang–she had to sit and explain to his parents all that had been done to him in terms of treatment. On the second visit, they demanded (well, again, mostly his father) she explain how his progress was being measured. Because, for all they knew, he was not recovering fast enough. _Not enough weight gain. Not enough talking. He just doesn’t seem to be getting right. His wounds are still healing. There are scars left behind._ And so on and so forth went the complaints. Even when he tried to explain it himself, he would get shut down by his father.

 

On the third visit…

 

“Why is it taking so long? Shouldn’t he be out by now?” demanded Carlyle Graves, towering over Madam Huang, “He’s been what, almost a month in here?”

 

Despite his father’s worse than usual attitude today, Percival had to say, he admired Constance’s deadpan expression, remaining firm and calm despite it all.

 

“Mr. Graves, I’ve already told you, the injuries inflicted upon your son are no simple magical injuries,” she calmly explained (again) whilst biting the inside of her cheek to keep from blowing up in the old man’s face, “They were _curse_ inflicted. The effects of curses are more difficult to heal and thus take more time.”

 

“Where did you study? I refuse to believe this is the best this hospital can offer, I’ve had partners injured by curses, _maimed_ even, and they were up and running in no time.”

 

“Honey–” Isolde, Percival’s mother, tried to intervene, only to be shushed.

 

“Don’t. I’m tired of this so-called healer wasting time with Percival,” the senior Graves huffed, stomping his foot down, “Do you want him to lose his position?”

 

“Mr. Graves, I honestly don’t know how else to explain your son’s condition to you,” Constance had to admit, her patience was truly being tested at the moment, yet she held her ground, “And if you will, I would prefer if we took this conversation outside, there’s no need to stress him–”

 

“Bah! I will do no such thing. He should hear, everything! And know that you are a fraud,” he pointed a finger at her face, at which her serene composure cracked a bit when she glared at him, “I’m taking this to this hospital’s administrator, I won’t stand for–”

 

“Father!” Percival barked suddenly, startling even Madam Huang, “That’s enough! Will you _stop_ badgering her?”

 

“Percival, you don’t–”

 

“I don’t want to hear it,” he held up his hand for silence before waving them away dismissively, “In fact, you can leave. Visiting hours are over.”

 

“The hell they are!”

 

“I don’t care, I don’t want you here right now. You’re giving me a blasted headache,” he seethed through gritted teeth, “Leave. Madam Huang, that’s my next scheduled potion, correct?” his tone changed when he addressed her, calm and even, as he motioned with his head towards the bottle the healer held between her hands.

 

“Yes.”

 

“Then unless you want to delay my treatment, I suggest you leave. Now, go on,” he insisted, pinching the bridge of his nose in frustration.

 

A heavy silence fell between them before Carlyle stomped away and out of the room. Isolde approached her son, squeezing his shoulder, having him look up at her.

 

“I’m sorry, you know how he gets,” leaning down, she kissed her son on the cheek, “I’ll talk with him.”

 

Percival was silent as he waited for them to clear the room, leaving him once more alone with Madam Huang. Instantly he let out a sigh he didn’t know he had held, offering his ever so patient healer an apologetic look while she set her materials on his bedside table.

 

“I have to apologize once more,” he started, “You shouldn’t have to deal with nonsense like that. My father is...not an easy man to deal with.”

 

As she began mixing the ingredients quickly but expertly, she shook her head, offering him a rare sympathetic smile, “No need to apologize, Mr. Graves. Yes, people like your father can be frustrating to deal with but I admit, I’ve faced worse. The worst kinds are awful patients _and_ awful family members.”

 

He huffed, nodding, “I can only imagine, Madam.”

 

For a moment he was silent, waiting as she finished preparing his potion. His inquisitive eyes took notice of details in her person he had not caught before. The freckles that adorned her nose and cheek, the strand of greying hair tucked behind her ear, her–

 

“You are staring, Mr. Graves,” she startled him out of his reverie, side eyeing him suspiciously.

 

“Sorry, bad habit,” he excused himself, thanking her then when she passed him the finished potion.

 

“A detective’s bad habit,” she chuckled, a slight smirk pulling at the edge of her lips.

 

He nodded as he finished gulping down the awful liquid, handing her back the bottle and accepting the accustomed glass of juice to wash down the bitter after taste. It was then something in her hand caught his eye, and he failed once more to be subtle.

 

Having followed his line of sight, Constance looked to her left hand calmly before saying, “I got splinched once.”

 

“On your first time?” he couldn’t help inquiring, his brow furrowed.

  
Shaking her head, she replied, “It’s...a long story, Mr. Graves. Perhaps...Perhaps one for another day.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welp, I wasn't going to post this today but for reasons I won't dwelve into, I can't sleep + had to calm my anxiety and did it by finishing this chapter lol Hope you guys are enjoying so far, feedback/kudos are love!


	3. Entropy

Constance Mei-Fen Huang was a woman of routine and order, despite the hectic work hospitals provided. Wake early. Have breakfast. Get cleaned and dressed properly. Apparate to work. Hospital rounds from Monday to Saturday, Sundays are free (with exceptions), and clinics thrice weekly. Rinse and repeat.

 

Routines meant she could notice when something was out of place, when a situation just seemed _wrong_. Her coworkers knew this, and her subordinates knew her rules, her trainees most of all. She only took one to two trainees per year to fully focus on passing on her knowledge. Trainees knew what she expected them to do, what to read on a daily basis, what to touch and what not to touch, as well as which patients they were allowed to treat. As a general rule, she took full care of difficult cases herself, only allowing her trainees to observe and read on the pertinent topics for each case until she felt they were prepared to take on more responsibility.

 

Thus, the moment her trainee, Mathias Burke, came to her this morning and began talking, near instantly she felt something was _off_...Mostly a hunch, but the young man was letting on more than what was necessary for just a hunch. The first red flag was his inquiring to get involved in helping with the difficult cases that day more than was necessary.

 

“Madam, if you would just allow me, I could help you gain time today and you could go home early,” he persisted, walking down the hall at her side.

 

Constance side-eyed him curiously, a brow raising in question, “Truly? You’re awfully eager today, more than usual. What’s gotten into you?”

 

He shook his head, and she took notice in the barely noticeable quiver to his jaw before he spoke, the way his eyes shifted to the left for a moment too long, “I-I just have so much energy today, Madam–I could even help you with Mr. Graves.”

 

“Mr. Graves is well on his way to be sent home soon, he won’t require too much time of me today. I’ll keep with him today as well,” she shook her head, “I’ll let you help me with Mrs. Lis. Add her to your list of patients and when you’re done with her come fetch me and we’ll discuss what today’s plans for her are.”

 

Mathias hesitated, clenching his jaw and swallowing thickly, “But I could–” he cut himself off when Constance stopped in front of the potion-mixing room and turned to stare pointedly at him, her eyes nearly glaring a hole through his skull, “R-Right...Mrs. Lis and the rest of my patients...Madam,” he bowed quickly and excused himself to start the day’s work.

 

Constance stared after him for a moment, feeling a sense of unease at his behavior. Regardless, she stepped into the potion-mixing room and set to work on mixing the first batch of potions for her morning rounds on the ward. Once she was done, as per usual she had a tray with the potions magically float in the air behind her. However, before she left the room, she fetched for a small round object in her belt pocket.

 

Holding the white sphere in the palm of her hand, she held it out, pointing towards a corner up in the ceiling. With an upwards flick of her wrist the sphere floated up to its pointed corner.

 

 _“Videre,”_ as she cast the spell, an iris and a pupil revealed themselves on the sphere. Twisting for a moment, the eye settled on her before it focused on different parts of the room in a repeating fashion. Casting a disillusionment charm on it then, she watched as it blended in with the wall behind it until it was all but invisible to her eyes.

 

Fetching into her pocket again, she took out a small pocket mirror and flicked it open, a perfect view of the potion room staring back at her. Hopefully this would either confirm her fears or put them to rest...

* * *

 

‘Get better!’

 

‘We can’t wait to have you back, sir!’

 

‘We miss you!’

 

‘It’s not the same without you!’

 

‘Praying for your recovery!’

 

With flicks of his wrist he waved through each ‘get well’ card his aurors had sent his way, each one magically flying neatly into the pile atop his bedside table once he finished reading them. Glancing back, he huffed at the sight of the card pile and the silly magical balloons and flowers by it. Really, he had to have a talk with his subordinates, they _knew_ he had no love for this sort of nonsense. Perhaps that is why they did it, to get on his nerves, to try to get their old Director Graves back but...He wasn’t the same, how could he after this ordeal? Even if he was getting better, he felt it, this had truly marked him. It was a fact he was learning to live with this past month and a half. Physically? He was practically cured. All he had left to manage was a limp from a fractured femur Madam Huang had expertly mended early on, a limp which was progressively getting better the more he exercised, and left over mending from the curses Grindelwald imposed upon his body. New dispersed scars mostly along his hands and arms told but a small story of the torture he had endured. He had also gained back a healthy amount of weight, practically back to how he was before his capture, and his magic was responding well–at least wandless at the moment. His wand had been returned but it was not at all responding to him to its fullest–a problem he would deal with once he was discharged. The auror even found the motivation to allow his hair to be cut nearly back to the way he liked to wear it, though without any styling product at the moment, letting it fall naturally to one side mostly. He had even shaved, only leaving a light stubble instead of going for a fully clean look.

 

Now, his mental recovery? That had been the challenge, as Madam Huang had initially warned him, as was expected. The nightmares were still there, the panic and paranoia, the insomnia. She had added a calming tonic to his treatment regime which was thankfully helping, but it wasn’t a permanent solution. Really, there wouldn’t be a permanent solution, only time would heal and, he thought, perhaps there were nuances he would have to adapt to.

 

“Morning, Mr. Graves!” Queenie’s voice lit up the room then, to which he turned to see her entering his room, followed closely by her sister.

 

“Good morning, Queenie,” he muttered, turning his attention back to the window, staring at the city below.

 

“You’re looking much better,” she quipped, placing new gifts on his bedside table next to the rest of the pile, “And...you sound better. I can’t quite hear your thoughts anymore.”

 

Much like Queenie was a natural legilimens, so was Percival a natural at occlumency. When he studied the art back in his Ilvermorny days and his training as an auror, he found little difficulty getting the hang of it. Yet, so it seemed the bastard Grindelwald was a natural at it as well, for it had been impossible for Queenie to detect any troubling thoughts from the director during the impersonation–she had never been able to read his thoughts, after all. That was until Grindelwald broke him. He recalled with horror how the dark wizard had tortured him, beaten his mind into submission as the man refused to let out any secret of his life or of MACUSA and his relations with others. The moment his occlumency was broken through, Percival had known he had failed, Grindelwald’s plan would work just by studying every detail in Percival’s mind. So it was no surprise that when Queenie first visited Percival during his recovery, she was all but alarmed–his mind was one she had never heard. He knew then he had to train it back, and thankfully it seemed to be working.

 

“Sure hope so,” he commented, turning to look at Tina as she walked up to him, handing him a letter personally, “What’s this?”

 

“Remember I told you about Newt?” she asked, to which he nodded after recalling him as Auror Scamander’s younger brother–the stranger whom had recognized something was off about him (or rather _not_ him) when he was being impersonated, “Well, it’s from him, see?” she pointed to the sender.

 

“Why would he...”

 

“I’ve been corresponding with him since he left and well I’ve kept him updated on all that’s happened,” she explained, shrugging, “He was involved, after all, and he did ask about you.”

 

He stared back at Tina silently for a moment before finally opening the letter.

 

 

 

> Greetings, Mr. Graves,
> 
>  
> 
> I hope when you receive this letter you are well into your recovery. I know we don’t know each other, I didn’t have the pleasure of meeting the real you in person, but Tina always speaks highly of you. I’m deeply sorry for what you went through, no one deserves that. However, I am glad you were found and not lost to the world. I’ve not much to say, I merely wanted to send my best wishes and hope to meet you in person next time I visit.
> 
>  
> 
> Best wishes,
> 
>  
> 
> Newt Scamander
> 
>  
> 
> PS. Don’t tell Tina, but I might visit sooner than she expects me to (I want to surprise her).

 

Graves smirked to himself when he finished reading, offering Tina an amused look, to which she looked perplexed, trying to peek at the letter before he waved it away into the air and onto the pile of letters.

 

“What? What did he say?” she asked, eyes wide with worry.

 

“Nothing, he just wished me well,” he chuckled, staring out the window before he went on with, “I didn’t know you had a soft spot for Scamander, Tina.”

 

“W-What? What gives you that idea, sir?” she tried to look him in the eye, frowning “Mr. Graves, what did he write?”

 

“Nothing that would shock you, Tina, now relax,” he patted her shoulder before walking around her when he heard Madam Huang’s characteristic footsteps approaching.

 

“Tina likes him,” Queenie casually said, pretending to cough afterwards.

 

“Queenie!” she huffed in exasperation, going quiet when the healer-in-charge walked in.

 

Madam Huang quirked an eyebrow and looked curiously between the three of them, “I came to check on you, Mr. Graves, but I see you lot have set up a gossip party in here. I would assume you are doing well today, all things considered?”

 

Percival nodded, toning down his amusement, his expression back to a calm, stern one, “I’m doing well, madam.”

 

“His occlumency is improving, Connie,” Queenie added with a smile, using Constance’s nickname, having taken a liking to the healer since they first met.

 

Not a legilimens herself, Constance relied on others to assess Percival’s recovery of his occlumency, “That’s actually good to hear. Which brings me to my next point. Mr. Graves, I think that within the next few days I can arrange for your discharge. What’s left to manage we can follow up in my consultory. How does that sound to you?”

 

The Goldstein sisters looked rather excited at the prospect, looking to Percival in hope.

 

He kept his composure despite his sense of relief, nodding simply before replying, “It seems reasonable.”

 

“Does that mean he can go back to work?” Tina inquired.

 

Constance shook her head, an apologetic look in her sharp eyes, “I’m not recommending it. We already discussed this,” she looked to Graves to which he nodded in confirmation, “I think he would benefit from at least five more months of adjusting back to his daily life.”

 

Graves turned to the worried Tina, reassuring her, “It’s alright, Tina. I discussed it with Madam Picquery too. It’s for the best,” he let out a long sigh, shrugging his shoulders briefly, “Besides, I haven’t taken a vacation in a while, I could use this paid leave.”

 

The look of disappointment on Tina’s face reminded him of his own when Madam Huang first sat down with him to discuss when he should attempt to return to his duties. As it was, it all revolved around taking it slow as he readjusted to his life again, for attempting to get back to the life he had so quickly could potentially set him back. Her arguments had made sense, logical even, he had no rebuttals to her reasoning. Besides he’d grown to trust her, she’d given him no reason for him to think she did anything to damage him.

 

“Oh...If it’s for the best then…I just hope this months go by quickly, the department needs you, Mr. Graves,” Tina sighed, turning to Queenie, “It’s time we get going. We’ll come by later, Mr. Graves.”

 

“Thank you, Tina,” he nodded before acknowledging Queenie before she left with her sister, “Queenie.”

 

Constance waved goodbye to them before turning her attention back to Percival, a smile drawn upon her lips, “You’ve got good friends, Mr. Graves. They really care about you.”

 

He huffed, shaking his head, “They’re more like...my associates,” he deadpanned.

 

The healer rolled her eyes while she reached in her pocket for something, “Oh for Merlin’s sake, Mr. Graves, you’re only kidding yourself,” she laughed, heartily so.

 

She handed him a small card then which he took. Inspecting it, he saw her name and title written on it with an address below her name, “Your consultory, I suppose?”

 

She nodded, “I’ll arrange for your appointment, all you need to do is be there. Instructions are on the back on how to get in.”

 

“I’m assuming this is No-Maj proof?” he quirked an eyebrow, glancing down at her, “In the wrong hands–”

 

“Yes, Mr. Graves, of course it is,” she reassured him with an amused smile at his concern, “The instructions on the back are charmed, they’re invisible to Muggle eyes.”

 

He smirked, “Thank you, Madam Huang. Again for...everything. Hard to believe I’ve been here for almost two months now…”

 

“I just hope I can keep helping you once we get you out of here, Mr. Graves–” Constance was cut off by her healer-trainee interrupting them.

 

“Madam! Oh, sorry, sorry. Hello, Mr. Graves,” he nodded in Graves direction, the auror furrowing his brow as both he and Constance stared at him expectantly, “Umm, Miss Rowan is still vomiting slugs, she’s asking for some...potion you gave her?”

 

“I’ll be right there, Mathias, just make sure she’s vomiting and not actually choking on a slug,” she calmly replied, turning back to Graves, eyes apologetic, “We’ll discuss the details of your discharge in the morning, alright? I’ll see you later, Mr. Graves.”

 

He nodded, offering a brief smile, “Good evening, Madam.”

* * *

Percival woke with a startle, sitting up quickly in his bed, hand over his chest. His breathing harsh, sweat dripping down his forehead, he felt as though his heart would burst from his chest from how forcefully it was beating. There wasn’t enough air reaching his lungs and he tried to sit up straighter to expand his chest further, anything to make this choking feeling go away.

 

 _‘Again, not again!’_ he thought in despair, trying to will himself to be calm, attempting to even out his rapid breaths.

 

These episodes were the worst, he decided, they would occur at the most unexpected times. At least with nightmares he had a trigger, but these attacks, they sought no excuse, they just _happened_ , all since his capture. Desperate for relief, he touched the charm hooked on his bedpost that called for the nursing station to send someone. Soon enough there was someone there, but it wasn’t a nurse, instead it was Madam Huang’s healer-trainee. Seemed the young man was working late.

 

“Mr. Graves, what’s wrong?” Mathias asked, placing his tray of potions to float in the air as he inspected the auror whom gave him an exasperated stare while he attempted to catch his breath, “Oh-oh r-right. Calming potion, calming potion,” he repeated to himself as he rummaged through the tray before finding the one he needed, placing it on Graves’ outstretched trembling hand.

 

Percival had only removed the cork, quickly as he could, when suddenly it was magically pulled from his grip. Following it with his gaze, it flew through the air and landed on Madam Huang’s hand, whom stood silently at the doorway, glaring.

 

He was confused for a moment but then he noticed she was glaring at Mathias, stalking towards them then slowly and with a hint of a defensive stance about her stride. The healer-trainee, on the other hand, ws visibly surprised and shaking, eyes wide in horror while they followed the senior healer’s dangerous stalk towards him.

 

“M-Madam?” Mathias tensed and Percival, whilst focusing on taking measured breaths, followed the healer-trainee’s hand, watching it slowly draw close to one of his pockets, “I-I thought you were home? I was just–was just helping Mr. Graves here–”

 

“I couldn’t help but notice how nervous you seemed earlier,” she began, her timbre low and her tone accusing, “Then you were so _eager_ to mix potions out of my watchful eye today, so _eager_ to scurry off to the potion-mixing room when there was much work to do with our patients and so eager to get work done early and see me off the premises...Really, Mathias, how could you not expect me to feel...suspicious?” 

 

Before Mathias could answer she took a whiff of the bottle she had taken from Percival's hand, "Poison. Really, Mathias? _Why_?"

 

Percival tried to best mask his surprise despite his subsiding panic attack. Poison. For shame, he was an auror, he was trained to detect how to tell apart a potion from a poison. Then again, in his altered state, he wasn't thinking clearly and...Of course, he thought. This  _bastard_ was waiting for the opportune moment to have him distracted enough from doing his usual quick but barely noticeable check of what he drank. 

 

“You don’t know what you’re talking abo–”

 

“ _Expelliarmus_!” Constance cried out then when Mathias’ hand dug into his coat’s pocket, his wand flying to the opposite side of the room.

 

The urgency of the situation forced Percival to act, barely realizing that in listening to Madam Huang speak her suspicions of Mathias he had slowly managed to catch his breath. Just when she disarmed Mathias so did Percival act too. With a quick and measured wave of his hand he cast ‘ _Levicorpus_ ’ in his mind. Instantly, Mathias’ feet were violently pulled from under him, lifting him up into the air, trapped in the auror’s levitation spell. Percival kept his focus on Mathias, his hand outstretched keeping him in magical suspension.

 

“Grindelwald is done with you!” Mathias spat, glaring at Percival. The traitorous young man laughed viciously at their expressions.

 

Both Percival and Constance looked to Mathias, eyes widened and brows rising in question. A chill ran down the senior auror’s spine, bile rising up in his throat as dread set in his chest. This was the last thing he needed–a damned Grindelwald supporter trying to poison him. He looked to Constance questioningly, only to note that she seemed as horrified as he, her breath coming in shallow and quicker, eyes wide with horror as if she’d seen a devilish spectre.

 

“What did you say?” Constance’s voice nearly betrayed her, so low it was barely above a whisper but she knew if she spoke louder, her quivering timbre would betray her. Not again, she thought, dreading what this could imply…

 

“You were meant to die!” the traitorous healer-trainee spat, glaring at Percival, “But MACUSA got to you first...And you–” he sneered at Constance, “–you kept getting in my way–Hmph!”

 

“ _Incarcerous_!” Percival shouted the spell at the same time he brought his hand down, slamming the man into the ground as he was restrained by magical ropes.

  
Just then nurses and other hospital personnel that heard the ruckus poured into the room. As they fussed about both he and Constance with worry, heard their take of what happened and contacted MACUSA, Percival looked to Constance with both concern and worry. She caught him staring and did not try to hide her troubled emotions, visibly shaken not only by what happened but by the revelation that a Grindelwald supporter had been among them. Her eyes silently told him that she was indeed afraid. Understandably so she _should_ be affected by what had just happened. However, years of training and detective work had given Percival an expertise in reading emotions and knowing just by someone’s expressions when they were keeping secrets. Thus by the look of her face, the way she seemed to have gone sick even and just slightly trembling (visibly trying to control it), he felt she had a personal reason as he did to fear Grindelwald.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy New Year my darlings! I come bearing a new chapter, hope you guys enjoy this one ^^ Feedback is always appreciated!


	4. Uncertainty

When the first rays of sunlight filtered through his hospital room’s window, Percival knew just how long of a night it had been. The interrogations had begun the instant they took away Mathias Burke. To think that just as he was to be discharged an attempt would be made against his life–the sorry bastard would have had a better chance when he was weak and unconscious when he was first admitted. Alas, it seemed life was not done messing with him at the moment, especially with something once more related to Grindelwald.

 

A knock on his door brought him out of his thoughts. Turning his head towards the sound, he saw Constance standing at the door. Despite the distance, the dark circles around her eyes were evident, her posture mildly hunched over, as if her shoulders weighed a ton, hair falling out of her bun, her grey lock of hair (which he noted was usually tucked behind her right ear) clearly visible now. Honestly, she was looking about as tired and worn down as him. 

“Mr. Graves...I’m so sorry,” Constance began as she walked towards him before Percival could speak, her tone heavy with guilt and shame, “I...I should have noticed something wrong with Mathias when I first took him in, I should have, I–”

 

“Madam Huang,” he interrupted her before she could trail off with her worry, sitting now at the edge of his bed, facing her now that she was before him, “If anything, I should thank you. You saved me. Again. If you weren’t there…Well, I doubt we would be having this conversation, would we?”

 

Taking in a deep breath, she nodded, tucking a stray lock of hair behind her ear, “I’m...I’m glad I acted on my hunch, I’ll be honest. The thought of what might have happened...No,” she shook her head and rubbed her arms, trying to get rid of the goosebumps the consideration brought her, “Not just because you’re my patient but…” she sighed, searching for the right words before her eyes fell on his features, “You’re a good man, Mr. Graves. I know I’m just your healer, but…” she trailed away, tired dark brown eyes downcast now, avoiding his gaze.

 

“You’re not just my healer,” he blurted out, unthinking, blinking rapidly for a moment as he considered why he said  _ that _ . 

 

Perhaps the sleepless night was getting to him, he pondered. When she quirked her eyebrow questioningly he cleared his throat and continued, “You’re...the woman that saved me, and I’ll never forget that...You saw me at my lowest and you’ve had the patience to deal with me. You’ve taken time to talk to me, explain everything you needed to do and why, and...You didn’t need to do that, most healers that have treated me before they...Well, they’re just not  _ you _ .”

 

“That’s what healers do, though,” she deadpanned but soon after a hint of a tired smile grazed her lips, amused by his words, “I’m a special kind of healer, is that what you’re implying, Mr. Graves?” her eyes lit up a bit then, seemingly distracted momentarily by the turn in the conversation.

 

A smirk dared to attempt a pull at the corner of his lip, “Perhaps that’s what I’m saying,” he surprised himself when he chuckled at her jab, thinking it impossible after the prior night’s events. He huffed, shaking his head, raking a hand through his hair, “You know, not all people think mildly strange behavior is sign of alarm but you did. I’d say you’re good at reading people,” she quirked a questioning eyebrow at that, “Now that I think about it, you would have made a great auror.”

 

She smiled, “I’m flattered but–” letting out a breath, she took a few steps forward until she was closer to his bedside, taking the visitor’s seat to be eye-level with him, “–I would honestly have preferred that last night’s events not be repeated. A supporter of that–” she shut her eyes, frowning as she bit her tongue to keep the foul word that almost left her mouth, “– _ monster _ , nonetheless. Besides, if I was an auror I wouldn’t have been your ‘special’ healer now would I?”

 

“No, but perhaps you would have noticed Grindelwald was impersonating me,” it came out fiercer than he expected and her expression instantly sobered up. No, it wasn’t directed at her, clearly, but it worried her nonetheless that there were matters on which he had yet to express his honest thoughts on. His brow rose at that, noting her change in expression, “Too scathing?”

 

Firmly she stared at him then, yet her eyes held gentleness to them that he believed he did not deserve, “You haven’t much expressed your emotions regarding that situation, Mr. Graves,” she replied calmly, her brow furrowing with concern, “You hardly ever talk about it or you blatantly avoid it. You know–” she paused, crossing her arms over her chest, “–it does well to vent. It can be...therapeutic.”

 

Pressing his lips firmly together, he gave a firm nod, “I’ll be fine, Madam,” letting out a sigh before intently looking up at her, brow pulling together. Wanting to change the subject, he went on with trying to pique at his curiosity from earlier, “Madam, if I may ask?”

 

“Anything.”

 

For a second he hesitated on his words, deciding whether he wanted to be intrusive to satiate his curiosity and worry or whether he would let the poor woman rest off this awful night away. Catching her gaze once more, he felt guilty when he noted the tiredness weighing down her dark brown eyes. Perhaps she had been directly affected by Grindelwald’s supporters, perhaps she hadn’t been. She was from Europe after all, wasn’t she? Though he didn’t know when she had made the move to America, he figured anyone from Europe would have seen the disaster Grindelwald left in his wake more closely, more personally. Regardless, he concluded that at the moment it didn’t matter. She’d done enough for him, no need to badger her with possibly personal questions. Deciding against his original question, he asked instead,

 

“Will you be alright?”

 

The healer must have taken notice of his hesitation for her sharp eyes narrowed in question for a moment before dismissing it and nodding instead, “Yes. I’m still...shocked, shaken even but...Yes, Mr. Graves, I’ll be fine. It’s mostly you I’m worried about. Your safety and all considered.”

 

“I appreciate your concern but I’ll stay alert. If MACUSA’s security wasn’t tightened enough before, it certainly will now,” he paused, frowning, shaking his head slightly, trying to brush off that feeling of doubt in the system that has taken root in his heart and mind, “Or so I hope…”

 

“As do I…” she let out a breath.

 

“Let’s just hope it’s all cleared up soon,” he looked up at her, a surprising gentleness to his gaze despite their weighing concerns, “I’ve taken up enough of your time. Why don’t you go home and rest, Madam?”

 

Nodding, she answered, “Yes, you need your rest too after all this.”

 

“You try to rest well, yes?” his brows rose expectantly.

 

“I will try,” she offered a half-hearted smile, “Rest, Mr. Graves, I’ll see you tomorrow.”

 

“Until then, Madam Huang.”

* * *

 

_ “Madam Huang, she’s an expert on hexes and curses,” Auror Rodríguez announced, the healer walking around him and kneeling in front of his shuddering form. _

 

_ “Can you help him?”  _

 

_ Tina? That was Tina, it sounded like her. Clearly, another one of Grindelwald’s hallucinations. He was tired, exhausted of fightning, barely able to tell when he was hallucinating and when he was experiencing reality. But this wasn’t real. Of course not, he had been saved before, only to wake again in his cell, chained and choking, unable to fight back despite his unyielding fierce will. _

 

_ “I can, of course, but it won’t be easy,” the woman referred to as Madam Huang spoke, he figured–her voice was new to his ears, after all, “Mr. Graves, I am Constance Huang, I’m a healer,” he stared at her then, wide eyed and suspicious of her, “I’m here to help you, not hurt you. We’re all here to help you.” _

 

_ “No, no, no...He sent you, you’re not real...You’re not…” he stammered, shaking his head furiously and closing his eyes, pressing firmly against the cold wall behind him. _

 

_ “This is real, Mr. Graves, this is no illusion,” once more she spoke, calm, collected, gentle, “Mr. Graves, I need to get close to you to stabilize your wounds for transport to the hospital. See–” she held out her hands in front of her, tentatively getting one of them close to a visible wound on his elbow, “Episkey,” the gash began to close then until it was nothing more than a scar, “–A healing spell, yes? No foul play.” _

 

_ Even if it wasn’t real, each day he had grown more weary, and a barely palpable slimmer of hope clung itself to his soul. If he played along with an illusion he would be hurt and if he didn’t he would be hurt either way...Hesitantly he nodded, allowing her to move closer still as she set to work on stabilizing the obvious wounds and a fracture.  _

 

_ “Alright, we’ll be transporting you now, Mr. Graves.” _

 

Percival woke with a startle, tense and suddenly sitting up, throwing the bedsheet aside and raising a fist defensively. He stopped, taking in his surroundings, inhaling and exhaling slowly before letting out a long tired sigh, his form slumping and letting himself fall back against the mattress. Slowly he had come to realize that this was not a dream but a memory. It was not the first time it had come to him in his sleep and the times it did it was the same. He’d thought he’d met her when he woke for the first time in the hospital but no, he’d realized that she had been there the night he was rescued. Yet, he was so traumatized by Grindelwald’s induced hallucinations that, in those 2 months, he’d found it hard to distinguish reality from illusion. Thankfully that had improved, though at times he found himself questioning and paranoid, needing a moment to assess certain situations that threw him in a loop. 

 

“Mr. Graves?”

 

He glanced towards the door, frowning when he saw a fellow clad in lime-green robes. A healer, clearly, but not  _ his _ healer. 

 

“Yes?” 

 

The man walked in then, a floating trail with tagged vials of different potions trailing behind him.

 

“Mr. Graves, sorry to bother you,” he excused himself, “I am Healer Magendie, I’m Head-Healer Huang’s associate, I cover for her when she’s not able to attend her patients. I’m just–”

 

“Wait, wait, wait,” instantly he sat up, holding up a hand for silence, fixating his gaze on the healer, “What happened? Where is she?”

 

“She didn’t specify, sir. She sent me an express owl this morning. All she said was that an emergency presented itself this early morning and she had no choice but to attend to it,” he explained quickly while fetching Percival’s potion, “Worry not, she left me clear instructions on what’s left for your discharge. Just the last few doses of your counter-curse mending potion and you should be set for tomorrow evening.”

 

Percival glared at the bottle, shifting his eyes from it to the healer’s, suspiciously. 

 

“...Sir? Will you please take your potion? I’m not…” he sighed, “I’m not Mathias Burke. The aurors outside your door can vouch–”

 

“I’m not taking it unless it’s made by Healer Huang’s hand,” he deadpanned, standing and walking around Healer Magendie, whom looked quite exasperated.

 

“Sir–Sir!” he hurried behind Percival as the man sought for a clean change of clothes in the room’s dresser, “Please, Huang will be furious! Believe me, she gets  _ nasty _ when her treatment plans are messed with. I–”

 

“Mr. Graves!”

 

Both men stopped then, turning towards Tina whom had just burst into the room unexpectedly.

 

“Tina, what’s wrong?” Percival furrowed his brow with concern, walking up to meet her halway.

 

She glanced between Graves and Magendie, hesitating before asking, “Healer, please, will you give us a moment? I need to speak with my boss…in private.”

 

Magendie considered it for a moment before he shrugged, making his way out, “Do what you must. Maybe, try to convince him to take his potion, yes?”

 

Percival huffed and waited for the healer to be a safe distance away before raising his brow expectantly at Tina, silently asking her to go on.

 

“Sir, they took her in for interrogation, that’s why she’s not in today,” Tina explained quickly, speaking barely above a whisper.

 

His eyes widened, frowning, “What? But she was already questioned. What does Agnes expect–”

 

“She’s convinced Madam Huang had something to do with it,” she shook her head, rubbing at her temple, “I know, it doesn’t make sense considering she actually  _ saved _ you...It’s why I came to you, sir. We’re all…worried. Mrs. Abbott is arresting anyone that so much says Grindelwald’s name in random conversations. She seems to think that since Burke was her trainee that maybe they were planning something together but Burke already testified!  _ And _ it was counter-verified with Veritaserum and a legilimens. He says he acted alone, he’s just a crazy fanatic,” Tina tried to catch her breath then from how fast she spoke.

 

“Merlin’s ass, she’s going to convict an innocent woman over mere speculations,” he ran an exasperated hand through his hair, considering his options, “If she wanted me dead she would have let me die when I was found,  _ goddamnit _ Abbott…And Grindelwald?”

 

Tina shook her head, “Abbott thinks it will be useless considering how he’s resistant to Veritaserum and we can’t risk a legilimens attempt to break into his mind.”

 

Given how tense and chaotic things had been as of late, he wasn’t surprised MACUSA was trying to hit hard and fast on Grindelwald’s supporters. With Agnes Abbott acting in his stead, it only meant this would be worse than he thought. As Tina suggested, innocent people may end up involved over mere speculations, it would only serve to further the distrust growing amongst the wizarding community, he thought. Despite it all, despite the things that still held him back, the ongoing process of recovery...he refused to just remain here and do nothing when Constance had done so much for him already–even if it was her job to do so.

 

“Wait for me,” he ordered Tina as he picked out his clothes quickly and headed for the bathroom to change, “I’m signing out of the hospital. I can’t just let Agnes continue acting as…” he paused, clearing his throat, “As an inquisitor,” it brought to mind Tina’s recollection of what happened when Grindelwald impersonated him and sentenced her to death. The thought brought chills to his bones. That couldn’t happen again, he wouldn’t allow, and he won’t allow anyone to turn into what Grindelwald pretended he was.

 

“Sir, but–” with shock in her eyes, she tried to argue with him but he held up his hand.

 

“I’m not changing my mind, Tina. I’m leaving. I’ll speak in her defense.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Woo, okay finally ending the section with Graves in the hospital! Next chapter should be up soon, the interrogation scene with Constance was gonna be included here but it got too long and it kinda flows better as two chapters instead of a hugeeeeeee one lol. Kinda excited for next chap we start learning more about Constance from here on out instead of just 'strictly professional i'm just your healer Mr. Graves' ;) Thanks to the peeps who have left kudos ilu all it motivates me! Kudos and comments are love babes, i appreciate them! <3


	5. Echo

Constance knew this day was going to be anything but disastrous the moment she stepped outside of her apartment and was met with a pair of aurors. The lot excused themselves and went over explaining that she was a suspect as an accessory in the attempted murder of Percival Graves and she would need to come with them for further investigation. _Peachy_ . Oh, and they would have to search her apartment. _Smashing_. 

With the recent events in the states and MACUSA’s huge security breach by Grindelwald, she was not at all surprised. Especially given her history with the dark wizard…It was only a matter of time, she thought, before she was interrogated all over again. Though she wasn’t sure what more she could add. In nearly 10 years she had not learned anything new about Grindelwald. All she knew and all she experienced and suffered, they already knew.

So it was that she found herself sitting alone in an interrogation room at MACUSA Headquarters, waiting for her interrogator. Crossing her arms across her chest, she tapped her foot impatiently. It was all like déjà vu. The memory of her arrival to America 9 years ago was still fresh in her mind. The moment she had arrived all those years ago she was met in customs by aurors expecting her and she was escorted to MACUSA for confirmation on her testimony and story provided by the Ministry of Magic. Yet again, she figured, she was here once more to explain the events that ultimately led to her emigration, escaping her native England to start a new life, away from the chaos caused by Grindelwald in Europe.

The door opened then and Constance glanced over her shoulder to see the Interim Director of Magical Security walk in. Offering a smug smile, Agnes walked around Constance to sit across from her, setting a folder and her wand down before her on the table. She remained quiet for a moment as she opened the folder, eyeing the first page with Constance’s identifying information. 

“So, you are Constance Mei-Fen Huang,” Agnes paused then, offering a vague imitation of an apologetic smile when she continued, “Oh sorry, or is it still Constance Havel?”

Constance stared at her, her sharp and angular features unwavering and wholly unamused. “My marriage has been annulled for 10 years, Mrs. Abbott. It is Huang.”

Pursing her lips, the interrogating witch gave several quick nods, eyeing the mediwitch suspiciously. “Right, right. So, says here you’re 38, studied in Hogwarts, went on to become a healer-trainee at St. Mungo’s, you’re from Leeds, England–far away from home aren’t we?” 

The healer sighed and cocked her head to the side, her expression still quite unamused. “Madam, with all due respect, the pleasantries don’t interest me, and I’m sure they don’t interest you either,” Constance deadpanned, hands tightening over each other on her lap. “Just ask me what you actually must ask me.”

“Hm, right to the point then?” Agnes offered a smug smirk, nodding and resting her forearms against the table, fingers interlocking. “Very well. Do you know why you were cited here today?”

“I wasn’t cited, I was _escorted_ from my home,” calmly did she correct the Interim Director, yet there was a scathing edge to the grave tone of her voice. “But yes, I suppose.”

“You suppose,” she repeats, almost mockingly, her brow rising almost up to her hairline.  “Tell me, why would you intervene with Mr. Burke’s attempted poisoning of Mr. Graves?”

Giving her an incredulous look, she asks, “Why? He’s my patient, of course I was to protect him. Would you have had me let him be killed?”

“Well, if you did have suspicions of your trainee, why didn’t you contact MACUSA then? Or even hospital security?”

“I didn’t think my bad hunch would be true,” closing her eyes momentarily, she paused to let out a slow breath, considering her words and trying not to let exasperation win her over, she continued, “I didn’t want it to be true. I was wrong, I know, I said this already in my initial statement. But I had no evidence in my favor except his strange behavior that morning and now you have my magical eye as solid evidence. Plus the culprit bottle with its foul liquid. What more do you want? Why would I save Mr. Graves if, as you’re suggesting, I actually wanted to hurt him?”

Almost as if she didn’t hear anything she said, she diverted the conversation  with another question, “Speaking of which, where did you get the eye?”

“A gift from my late grandmother.”

“Hmm,” looking quite unimpressed, Agnes continued eyeing Constance’s file before she stared up at her again. “These are dangerous times, Miss Huang. Even with Grindelwald in prison we cannot let our guard down, especially after he infiltrated our forces the way he did,” she sighs, laying back in her chair, arms crossed over her chest. “So, you do understand why, even if you were a victim of Grindelwald once, there is a bit of reasonable doubt that you may actually be, how do we say–” she glanced away then, hand waving about, pretending to search for the word she needed with unnecessary drama, finally saying, “–a sleeper agent.”

Taken aback, Constance’s brow contorted with both mortification and confusion, shaking her head. “That is ridiculous,” she pointed at the MACUSA file with her gathered information, going on, “You must have read my statements. There’s copy of them from the Ministry in there. Did you even read them? Merlin’s beard, I testified _against_ his supporters in Great Britain before the Wizengamot,” she stared back at her defiantly, eyes wide with incredulity. It was becoming hard to keep calm and serene when this woman was looking for a sliver of the slightest suspicion, making impossible stories out of them just to lock her up...or worse.

“Hmm. You’re acting as if what happened last night just doesn’t seem to be reason for me to be suspicious of anyone with a history with Grindelwald, innocent or not,” she rose her brow questioningly, pouting out her lower lip.

She paused, brow slowly furrowing, eyes narrowing suspiciously. Last night? The attempted poisoning was two nights prior, not last night.

“Wait...what happened last night?” Constance asked carefully, voice almost a whisper, as if afraid to find out a dreadful truth.

Agnes guffawed, holding a hand out, inspecting her expressions closely. “You honestly don’t know or are you playing stupid? Didn’t you read the paper this morning? It’s all the chatter.”

“With all due respect, _Madam_ , I had aurors at my door this morning before I could receive my copies of the Boston Seer and New York Ghost,” her nostrils were flaring now, eyes unwavering, boring a hole into the redhead’s skull.

“Right,” she scoffed, shaking her head before she went on, “Well, two supporters of Grindelwald somehow broke out of Azkaban last night,” with a flick of her wand she conjured up her copy of the New York Ghost, presenting it to the healer. “Three supporters which you–” she pointed at Constance, “–testified against.”

Constance’s face lost all color, horror slowly overtaking her features when a cold sweat took her, eyes wide and unmoving for a moment. There, on the front page of the New York Ghost, were two faces whom she clearly recognised, staring back at her madly, a cruel reminder of what she had endured all those years ago.

“Is this a joke to you?” she choked out the words, breathing harshly while trying to control her raging and conflicting emotions. “If anything you should be offering me protection, these men know my face! I testified _against_ them, I led the Ministry aurors to them! How does _any_ of this translate to me being a supporter of Grindelwald secretly trying to murder one of my patients?!”

Agnes shrugged nonchalantly, unfazed. “Perhaps you want him to trust you so fully so at the most opportune moment you may strike. Not necessarily kill him but to keep using him for Grindelwald’s purposes.”

“Do you bloody well hear yourself?” Constance glared now, shaking her head, unbelieving that this woman could be either so dense as to make these assumptions, or so cruel and power-hungry as to want to seem like the hero who took action against anything barely suspicious. “You are grasping at straws that aren’t even there, that is the most convoluted motivation I’ve ever heard.”

“I don’t believe in coincidences, Miss Huang,” Agnes stated, bringing her hands up to her chin, resting it on her knuckles while keeping her steely blue gaze on Constance. “Out of any person that could have treated Mr. Graves, it was you, a former _victim_ of Grindelwald’s that ended up with his care. How convenient, no?”

“This may seem surprising but I am not the only victim of that vile man who has come to this country to escape and start a new life,” she spat back, ready to defend herself, “If you actually put your intel gathering to good use you would see that there are many of us victims who have arrived to your jurisdiction since Grindelwald began his movement. We just never thought it would expand beyond Europe.”

“So you’ve met other victims besides Mr. Graves? Really?” she chuckled, head shaking in disbelief.

“Let me be clearer, Madam _Interim_ Director,” she emphasized the word ‘interim’ so as to remind her that her post was not permanent–and oh how it tickled her to see the redhead’s eyes twitch at that. “I specialised not just in spell damage but in counter-curses _and_ curse damage to help other victims who were _hurt_ like I was. I became head of my department not long ago, I have been personally taking as many difficult cases of people personally affected by curses. For the last nine _years_ of my life I’ve been dedicated not only continuing to offer my services as a healer but trying to improve upon the understanding of long-lasting damages curses leave on witches and wizards. So you are right,” with each statement her tone grew more scathing, until she willed herself to calm, speaking more evenly now, softly even. “It is _not_ a coincidence. I do actively seek to help any witch or wizard extensively hurt and damaged by curses and dark wizards.”

* * *

Percival and Tina apparated not far from the Woolworth Building, striding quickly towards it before the senior auror grabbed his protegé by the upper arm, stopping her in her tracks. Quizzically she looked up at him just as he explained himself.

“Tina, go about your business now, I’ll take it from here,” he urged her, releasing her and stepping around her when she protested.

“But, Mr. Graves, sir–”

“You can’t be seen with me, alright?” he answered, turning back to her, eyes pleading silently with her. “I don’t want you getting into trouble. For all you know, I saw myself out of the hospital myself and you didn’t tell me Madam Huang was taken into interrogation. Got it?”

Defeated, she let out a sigh and nodded, meeting his stern gaze, “...Yes, sir, I understand,” when he began stepping away she called out, “Will you be alright?” and received a blank stare as response before he quirked one of his eyebrows dramatically. “Right. Alright. I’ll stay alert for any news, though!”

“Thank you, Tina,” he said quickly, truly appreciatively despite his barely changing tone of voice. “We’ll speak later. Now go,” he waved her away when she hesitated and he walked towards the entrance. “Go.”

Graves walked up to the doorman confidently despite his still lingering mild limp. Despite his slightly longer hair, his undercut grown in, and short-trimmed beard, he was instantly recognized.

“Marcus,” he deadpanned in greeting, taking out his MACUSA ID card just in case.

“Director Graves!” the doorman gasped, “What are you–”

“I was discharged today. I’ve business with Mrs. Abbott.”

Marcus nodded but almost instantly visibly flinched, looking to Graves with regret in his eyes. The younger man excused himself before ushering Graves inside, away from No-Maj prying eyes. He’d explained that he would need to make sure it was actually him. Graves was in no position to fight or argue, he had to keep going. Sighing in resignation, he nodded and Marcus used the _Revelio_ spell on him. It did nothing, of course, but it was none the less pleasant when it coursed through his body.

The moment he was cleared he stalked quickly towards the lower levels. Gasps and fingers were pointed when several people caught sight of him. Questions caught his ear from afar, people talking amongst themselves as to why he was back so soon and whether he had already recovered. Then the nasty ones who thought he hadn’t heard, speaking ill of him and his loss against Grindelwald. That one stung yet he willingly shut them out. He was here, after all, for entirely different reasons, he had to focus. Passing quickly by his office without much of a glance or wondering how Agnes had changed it to fit her needs, the man continued down into the next floor, finally upon the interrogation rooms.

One of his aurors had just stepped out of one of the rooms, and he stalked towards him in an instant. The man jumped in place, eyes wide and a hand instinctively flying to his wand pocket before relaxing it.

“Mr. Graves, what are you doing here, I thought you were–”

Holding his hand up for silence, Graves quickly interceded, firm and direct, “Can it, Knibbs, just tell me where Agnes is.”

“Um, uh, why are you asking–”

“Damnit all, Knibbs, you and all the fucking department owes me for not noticing a dark wizard impersonating me,” he seethed, eyes boring a hole through the other man’s skull. “I thought everyone here was damned capable of detecting an–”

“Alright, alright!” Knibbs held his hands up in defeat, letting out a long sigh. “Room 3, sir...I’m so–” and with that Graves was gone, walking around him, not even letting him finish. “–rry…We’re in deep shit when he comes back to work…”

Graves was upon the room in no time, not even bothering to knock. No sooner that he opened the door all eyes were on him. Agnes glared in disbelief while Constance stared in shock, eyes wide and questioning.

“Graves, what the hell are you doing here?!” she was on her feet instantly. Grabbing her wand, she suddenly pointed it at Graves, exclaiming, “ _Revelio_!”

Once more the spell shook through him, causing him to bend over in discomfort. “Damnit, Abbott, it’s the actual me,” he huffed, letting out a cough suddenly. “Then again you wouldn’t fucking know.”

Graves walked further into the room, standing before the table between the two women. It was hard to avoid Constance’s glare, he noticed, whom had kept her eyes on him like a hawk, still bewildered by his presence. He thought he was beginning to understand what healer Magendie meant when he said Constance was to be feared when she was angry.

“Mr. Graves, what in bloody Merlin’s burning pants are you doing here?!” she asked in agitation, gripping the edge of the table tightly, eyes still on him. “Did Magendie discharge you? Without giving you your last two doses of the counter-curse potion?”

He shook his head and answered, “No, I signed myself off,” he deadpanned, deciding against going into detail for now. Turning his gaze to Abbott instead, his glare returned, poised on the redhead. He leaned forward, resting his hands on the table. His gaze caught the folder before Abbott, his eye twitching when he noticed the small picture of Constance on the first page along with identifying information–wait, why did she have a file with MACUSA? Was it because she was an immigrant? Despite this, he still went on speaking with what was originally on his mind, “Abbott, I’m not gonna let you do your stunts of throwing just about anyone in jail based on mind bending speculations.”

“Whether you like it or not I’m pulling your weight here while you finish your damn recovery,” she spat, leaning back on the chair and crossing her arms over her chest when she continued, “I’m not about to be known as the Interim Director who was too soft and merciful in the face of all this fuckin’ disaster, Graves.”

Percival groaned in frustration. “Damnit, Abbott, there’s a difference between soft and outright turning into an inquisitor!”

There was a moment of silence as Agnes regarded Graves, narrowing her eyes at him dangerously. Constance could only look between the two, unsure of what to do or say, deciding to play it safe and stay quiet for the moment–she needn’t add fuel to the fire. As it was, she was already in deep shit, no need to make her situation worse.

“Since you went through all the trouble here and you’re so adamant on defending your healer, then stay. But perhaps you should know she has ties to Grindelwald,” Agnes huffed, smirking triumphantly when Percival frowned in confusion, his demeanour changing, face dropping with disappointment. “Oh yes. I’m not questioning her just for fun, after all. It’s not just because she happened to have the worst trainee.”

A lump rose to his throat, doubt setting in his mind when he heard Agnes, feeling betrayed, in a way. After all, he had gone through all this trouble to come over here and defend her, and it turns out she has ties to Grindelwald? He frowned, disheartened, betrayed, fearful of knowing more. Constance was looking to him with concern, seemingly wishing to speak but afraid to do so, yet he avoided her gaze. He couldn’t look at her. How could he trust again? He couldn’t trust, no he couldn’t, he’d made a terrible mistake…No. The reasonable side of his mind screamed at him. This was Agnes, he reminded himself, this was _Agnes_ , he needed the proof not her word for it. So he looked to the open file before her instead.

“This concerns you doesn’t it? I saw the way you looked at it. Go ahead, look about,” Agnes smirked, closing the file and sliding it over to Graves.

Constance leaned forward towards Percival, trying to grab his attention. There was hesitance in her movements, her brow pulled with worry.

“Mr. Graves…” her voice wavered, heavy with fear of what he might think of her. Yes, the truth was in that file and yes, she thought Graves was far more reasonable than Agnes but...she couldn’t be so sure of that truly. How could he after all he went through? After his trauma with Grindelwald’s imprisonment and his impersonation, Constance figured his mind would not be the same Graves she had seen on the newspapers before, so confident, stoic, and reasonable. A man known for being cold and calculating but level-headed and fair. For all she knew, now Agnes’ convoluted story may make sense to him now. She would know, after all, it took her so long to trust anyone again after her ordeal with Grindelwald all those years ago. “Mr. Graves, I wanted to tell you–”

He held his hand up for silence, avoiding her pleading gaze. However, he frowned when he saw the ink stamp on the front that read ‘GRINDELWALD CASE FILES: VICTIMS’. Wait...Victim? For a moment his gaze rose to Constance’s, softening for the slightest of moments, sympathetic even, silently asking: you too? The wizard began to scan quickly through the documents before him. He chastised himself for his quick presumptions when Agnes said Constance had ties to Grindelwald. The doubt that had initially set in subsided, instead he eventually brought a hand over his mouth in shock the further he read. However, to the others watching, it didn’t look as shock but an attempt to contain disgust, perhaps directed at Constance. Yes, he was disgusted, but not with Madam Huang. Finally, he looked to Constance again, his brown eyes apologetic, gaining a confused stare from the healer.

Agnes reached over and pulled the file from Graves hands. “Well, you’re a quick reader. Let’s finish hearing what she has to say.”

“What else do you want me to say?” Constance narrowed her gaze at Agnes, shaking her head in disbelief.

“...She’s a victim why are you hounding her?” Percival instantly piped in, his tone grave and accusing while he stared down Agnes.

“Because not all may be as it seems!” she waved her hands about, eyes wide, looking bewildered. A thought occurred to her then, figuring this was what would give her the evidence and perhaps a hint of a confession she needed–or rather, wanted. Bringing her hands together and interlocking her fingers once more, she leaned forward against the table’s edge, staring firmly at Constance when she asked, “Perhaps, you would like to tell us about Rhys Havel?”

Constance was quiet, her gaze turning into an outright glare, eyes glossing over with unshed tears. Percival interceded again before she could say anything.

“Abbott, I have eyes, I read the report...” he sighed in exasperation, wishing for this to end, for Agnes to stop and see reason. From what he read, he figured talking of that man would only upset Constance, more than she already was. There _really_ was no need for this.

“And? Don’t you see? It’s a convenient story for a sleeper agent, no?” she looked to him as if he was a fool for not understanding.

“On what are you basing this?” he asked.

“Are you paying attention? It’s the perfect alibi! How damn convenient that she was set to be your healer!” she laughed mockingly.

Constance’s glare had not subsided, glued on Agnes still. The redhead took notice and put her attention back on the healer, ignoring Percival.

“Perhaps you should tell him the part where I told you I specialized in dealing with counter-curses and victims of dark wizards _after_ my own damned experience with Grindelwald,” Constance expressed practically through gritted teeth, exasperated. “This would obviously make me more than likely to take his case, I’m head of my department!”

“Can’t imagine you were so hurt in your experience as you healed Grindelwald on numerous occasions,” Agnes scoffed, “Him and his goons, no?”

“Under the Imperius curse, yes,” Constance retorted firmly.

“Ah yes, the convenient excuse.”

“Abbott, you need to stop,” Percival insisted once more.

“Not just yet,” she waved him away. “Let’s get back to what I was asking. About Rhys, yes? You must miss him, hm? So far away, in Azkaban, surrounded by Dementors,” Agnes’ lips contorted into a smug grin.

Constance narrowed her eyes, leering in disbelief, “Miss him? _Miss_ him? Do you know what he _did_ to me, Mrs. Abbott?”

Percival took a step back, glancing from Constance to Agnes, his eyes all but telling the redhead ‘you asked for this’ when Constance discharged her anger on her.

“Nothing,” her lips quivered, glaring at Agnes, unblinking. “He did nothing. He did _nothing_ –” she nearly spat the word, her tone venomous, “–when Grindelwald used the Imperius curse on me to _force_ me to heal him. He did _nothing_ when Grindelwald tortured me with the Cruciatus curse when I defied him. He did _nothing_ when I had to heal people that Grindelwald tortured to keep them from dying, only for the bastard to torture them all over again. Those people who _begged_ me to kill them just so they could stop suffering...but I couldn’t and I wouldn’t. He did _nothing_ but watch and beg me–” she guffawed bitterly, angry tears escaping her eyes, “–begged me to cooperate. Because, Mrs. Abbott, how could I not understand Grindelwald’s cause? How could I not understand why he had joined his cause? When we’d both lost family members to Muggles–oh, pardon me, No Majs… 

“The only reason I am alive, Mrs. Abbott, is because I was convenient to keep around,” she continued her barrage though by this point Agnes was clearly uncomfortable, seemingly wishing she had not pressed on. “A healer at hand, at all times…It was only for a month but by my ancestors, it felt like an unending living nightmare. You pretend to accuse me of conspiring to kill the very man I’ve dedicated time and effort into helping him heal for nearly two months just because I am a convenient extra suspect? Because why arrest only the culprit when you could get more glory and recognition by arresting the sorry witch who was stuck with the rotten trainee? That is an insult to every–” she punctuated the word with a firm tap of a sharp nail against the table, “–single–” and again, “–patient–” and again, “–I’ve dedicated my sleepless nights to just so they could have a faster recovery than I did, just so they didn’t feel alone in one of their darkest moments of their lives, Madam. So, no, I do not _miss_ Rhys Havel and I will go to my deathbed with a seething hatred for him, for betraying _me_ , for hurting me so, for letting Grindelwald torture me so…I was his _wife_ and that meant _nothing_ to him…”

Constance let out a shaky breath, allowing herself to fall back against the seat, wiping furiously at her eyes while she took in deep breaths. She hadn’t expected to go on such a rant but the woman really pushed her to let out her rage. If she wanted more information, she got it. Constance only regretted that Mr. Graves had been here to witness this and she was painfully aware of the fact, thus she avoided looking in his general direction.

There was a heavy silence in the room while Agnes fiddled with the file, seemingly re-reading certain parts, her face red with shame, nearly matching her fiery red hair. From what Percival could only assume, it seemed Agnes skipped the part that detailed all there was to know of Constance’s former husband. He could only glance every now and again at Constance with empathy, trying to let her know that he had her back, that he was sorry she had to suffer under Grindelwald’s schemes, and that she had been stuck with such a rotten man for a husband back then. Her circumstances may have been different, she may not have been locked in a cursed expanded dresser for two months, but in his eyes she had been a prisoner nonetheless.

After a moment she spoke again, her tone lower now, almost a whisper, “Do what you want. Take my memories, inspect every one of them if you must. But that is all I have to say. If you do not believe me still…” she shrugged. “Then I can do nothing but resign myself at this moment.”

“Madam,” Percival finally spoke, gaining Constance’s tired gaze. “I’m not letting anything happen to you,” his tone was sincere, reassuring.

For a moment she was quiet, holding his gaze when she nodded and offered a grateful smile that was actually barely there. “The thought is appreciated, Mr. Graves. I am only sorry it was I who ended up as your healer, otherwise you wouldn’t be in this mess right now.”

Percival was about to answer when Agnes suddenly stood and walked towards the door. “Stay here, I’ll be right back.”

“What are you doing?” Percival asked, quirking an eyebrow, feeling hesitant about her actions.

“Revising something. Just do as you're told and stay. That includes you,” she pointed at Graves before she left the room, leaving him alone with Constance.

The two remained quiet, not wishing to give Agnes an excuse to keep making up stories. At the same time, however, both were unsure of what to say, though Constance was mainly exhausted after this emotional ordeal. Still, they glanced quietly at each other, a promise of a much needed conversation for later–if they got out of this unscathed.

Agnes returned a moments later, sooner than Percival expected actually. “Go,” she said simply, all of her attitude from earlier seemingly defeated out of her.

“What?” Constance and Percival asked almost simultaneously.

“I’m letting you go. You made your case clear, alright? I’ve discussed it with the senior aurors,” Agnes sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose. “Just go. Burke denied your involvement under Veritaserum and under the scrutiny of a legilimens, and I’ve no...solid, actual evidence against you. Plus I’ve still got to question Grindelwald, so there’s that.”

Percival let out a slight chuckle. “I’ll be damned, this must be the first time I see you coming into reason.”

“Shut it, Graves,” she snapped, shaking her head. “You both leave now and I won’t tell Picquery you signed yourself out of the hospital, capiche?"

After confirming he understood, he and Constance left without needing to be told again. Though the ordeal with Agnes was done for now, the two of them had a lot to discuss now and both were rather antsy to break this silence soon enough.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finally got this one out, it took me longer than expected! Thanks to everyone who's read so far, I appreciate greatly the kudos and any feedback really ^^ Hope you guys like this one, I'm looking forward to continuing with the next one, it's already started uvu. 
> 
> PS. If anyone is interested and has a tumblr you can find me there at animarosa.tumblr.com! I cross-post this fic there and I'll be making headcanons hopefully and Constance/Graves-related stuff in the future! Go talk to me there if you wanna gush with me about Percival ;)


	6. Surface

Percival escorted Constance out of MACUSA headquarters, both in quite a hurry, yearning to be out of there already. They were quiet the whole time until they had crossed the street when Constance broke the silence once they were in an alleyway to disapparate.

“I should be heading home now and we could speak later if you want but...Mr. Graves?”

“Yes, madam?”

“How dare you break out of the hospital?!” she nearly yelled in exasperation, standing on her tiptoes as she glared at him. After a moment she sighed, feeling only mildly guilty for her outburst when his brow rose in surprise. “Sorry, sorry, I appreciate that you came to my defense but what possessed you?! You shouldn’t be skipping your last doses of _Contra-Maledictum_!” 

“How dare I?” he quirked an eyebrow, incredulity in his eyes. If only she knew Agnes as he had...Well, she got a good idea already, surely she could see why it drove him to stand in her defense. On the other hand, he was clearly getting a good idea of how strict she was about rules – much like himself, in fact. “Because I knew Agnes was going to be an unreasonable idiot with all the shit’s that’s been happening lately. I wasn’t about to let her ruin your life.”

“Who told you anyway?” she crossed her arms over her chest, tilting her head lightly.

For a moment he scratched at his brow before giving in and sighing out, “...Tina,” figuring out there would be no point or benefit in lying to her.

“Ms. Goldstein, of course,” she tapped her foot impatiently, bringing a hand up to rub at her temple. “Look, I’m...sorry, I’m sorry, I shouldn’t blow up on you like this, not after what you did, yes? I had no one to come speak in my defense and you...I don’t know how you could put so much trust in me, honestly…” her brow furrowed, looking up at him curiously.

“Because I owe you my life practically,” he deadpanned as if it was the most obvious matter to figure out. “You were there since the day I was found.” At this Constance frowned before her eyes widened slightly in surprise. She knew he hadn’t remembered the day of his rescue very clearly. “Yes, I recall now.”

“I see...Much as I would appreciate continuing this conversation,” she sighed, finally dropping her arms at her sides before she continued, “You need your missed dose of the counter-curse potion...You should go to a clinic, I’ll get in contact with Magendie, he could see you–”

Percival held up a hand, interrupting her, “Madam, sorry but...As I told Magendie, I only trust you with my health right now…”

“Bugger but you are a stubborn man,” she chuckled lightly, looking up at him curiously. “...Truly, you really trust me so? Even after...all you learned from me today?”

He nodded, hands disappearing into the pockets of his coat while he glanced down at her, holding her gaze, hoping she saw that he was sincere. “I think it made me trust you more now, actually…Granted, I know you probably didn’t want me learning all I did about your life, I’m sorry,” he pressed his lips tightly together, brow raising  and offering an apologetic gaze. “After Agnes made me doubt, well…”

Shaking her head, she held out a reassuring hand. “It’s alright. I would have doubted too, all things considered...Well, if you insist on keeping me as your healer, I’ve the ingredients for the potion at my home. I’d take you to my clinic but I haven’t restocked...Today was restocking day actually but alas.”

“Lead the way then,” he said and offered his arm for her to take.

Constance nodded and promptly took his arm, Disapparating them both. For several seconds they were pulled and twisted in different directions but barreling rapidly only towards one destination. With a crackling _‘pop’_ they Apparated in front of Constance’s apartment. Releasing Percival’s arm, she reached into one of her coat’s pockets for the charmed key. 

Once inside, she set down her coat on the hanger, announcing, “Make yourself comfortable while I prepare your potion, Mr. Graves,” and disappearing down into the hallway.

Graves followed her in, shutting the door closed behind him. Absentmindedly he did as she did, setting down his coat while he took in his surroundings. It was a rather simple but comfortably spacious apartment, the walls a tasteful grey color with a bluish hue to them, minimally adorned by several moving paintings. He was met first by the living room to his left, which led uninterrupted to the dining table, a three-panel bay window lined by a reading bench before it. The kitchen to his right and the hallway right down the middle. 

“Where are we?” he asked when he stepped up to look out the window, met by snowfall against the glass and a pleasant view of a park below, buildings visible in the distance.

“Boston,” Constance called from a room in the hallway.

While he waited for her, he stepped back into the living room, his attention caught by portraits set upon shelves taking up practically a whole wall. On one portrait was a silver-haired man wearing round glasses and a heavily-freckled, graying dark-haired woman next to him, both beaming with smiles, glancing at each other every now and then – her parents, he guessed. He went on, barely noticing the small smile pulling at his lips, seeing one of Constance, seemingly younger, looking proper with what seemed a healer-trainee robe on. In another she looked younger still, wearing dark robes adorned with a crest-pin of a snake. Yet another was of her with two other girls in similar robes, the three seemingly celebrating something. One was very tall and seemingly pale, with short blonde hair, the other just a tad taller than Constance, with warm dark skin and long dark hair, distinguished by a Quidditch uniform.

Constance’s footsteps drew his attention away from the portraits, glancing at her as she set down a tray with a bottle and ingredients atop her kitchen counter. She passed by the living room then and onto a flight of spiralling stairs right by the living room.

“I’ll be down in a moment, need some herbs,” she announced, disappearing up the stairs.

Percival asked once she was back, “Got a garden upstairs?”

“Yes. Mostly for my potions, like to grow the ingredients myself. Saves me dragots too,” she explained, gripping a bunch of roots and herbs in one hand. Instantly she set to work in preparing his _Contra-Maledictum_ potion, or as she commonly referred to it, mending or counter-curse potion.

He was walking towards her when a croak and the sound of flapping wings startled him. Looking towards the sound quickly, hand flying to his wand pocket reflexively, he saw a large raven perched upon one of the dining chairs, turning its head curiously up at Percival.

“Ah, sorry about that,” Constance glanced up from her cauldron briefly. “Don’t mind, Barry. He looks mean but he doesn’t peck.” While the potion brewed, she flicked her wand, a teapot and a couple of tea cups floating down from her cupboard down to her cooktop, water flowing from the sink and into the pot.

“Barry?” Percival quirked an eyebrow in amusement, turning to Constance, who promptly ignored him. She would not have anyone judge her raven’s name thank-you-very-much, Mr. Graves included.

The raven croaked briefly in response instead.

Percival huffed, turning back to the bird. “I’ll be honest, he looks more like a Harry.”

“ _Harry_?” Constance piped in, quirking an eyebrow at him. “What makes him look like a Harry?”

He shrugged, “Well his feathers sort of look like shaggy hair...Hairy Harry.” 

She laughed genuinely at that, eyes crinkling with the action, shaking her head in amusement. Percival found himself distracted by her laughter, admiring how...different she looked when she was at ease and amused. By _him_ , nonetheless, the person with the most dry humor in MACUSA.

Constance was mildly taken aback by how at ease he seemed around her. After that month and a half of treating him, she’d seen him at his weakest from the start of it all and she never thought she would see such a genuine, warm smile on his face. It was silly of her, of course, to assume he was as he appeared in the papers, in his interviews with the press and such: a cold and distant man, always alert and calculating. Granted, she had never wondered what he was like in private. Of course, she knew, others thought of her similarly, she was after all very calm and collected in her workspace, strict and intimidating when she needed to be. Regardless, she was actually more surprised how in their back-and-forth he’d managed to distract her of the awful morning she had just had at MACUSA headquarters.

“Didn’t know you were a comedian, Mr. Graves,” she snorted, surprised to see him smiling at her.

He cleared his throat then, glancing away when he caught himself smiling like a fool and staring at her longer than what would be considered appropriate. “Of the worse lot, I’m afraid.”

“Nonsense, I’m sure everyone at your department loves your jokes,” she commented casually, a hint of sarcasm in her tone though nonetheless amused.

“Of course, I was their boss,” he joked in his deadpan tone.

“Don’t count yourself out of your position so soon, Mr. Graves,” she added to which he hummed in response. The witch turned to face the teapot on the cooktop, steam flowing out of it. “I made tea, hope it’s alright with you. Best to have something to wash down the potion,” she announced and began placing the completed potion on a tray along with the tea set.

“Tea’s fine, thank you.”

“Go on, take a seat now,” she insisted, signalling towards the living room. Just as she was about to grab the tray, Percival had quickly moved towards the kitchen counter, taking it before she did, “Mr. Graves, you don’t have to, you’re my guest.”

“I want to and I insist,” he piped in, walking with tray in hand towards the living room and placing it atop the coffee table. Percival was about to take the glass with the potion in it when Constance interrupted him, taking it and dipping in her pinky which she promptly brought to her mouth, tasting it. Seemingly satisfied with her product, she nodded and handed it back to him, assuring him it was perfectly alright. He frowned, wondering why she did that. Well, she had done it before, back when she began treating him and he didn’t trust her or anyone for that matter. So he had to ask, “Madam, why...why did you taste it?”

“Well, after all that’s happened...thought I would reassure you,” she explained, taking a seat across from him, setting to serve tea for themselves.

“Thank you,” he wanted to say more but thought that at the moment it would be best to keep it simple and take his potion in one quick gulp. He trusted her, he did, he didn’t know how else to assure her of that fact, he could only hope she would see it eventually.

While Percival dealt with the aftertaste of the potion and served himself sugar in his tea to his liking, a heavy silence fell between them for a moment. Light-hearted comments and reassurances aside, there was the matter of who spoke first about what happened at MACUSA, about those questions left unanswered. Percival opened his mouth to speak after taking a sip of his tea but Constance beat him to it before he could utter a word, leaning forward on her chair. 

“Listen, I really wanted to tell you...About me being a former victim of Grindelwald’s, I mean...I didn’t feel it was appropriate considering I was – or am your healer. I wanted to let you know you had someone who somewhat understood your pain. I should’ve made an exception and told you, I–”

“Madam Huang,” he interrupted her calmly, holding her concerned gaze. “It’s alright...You didn’t have to tell me. Like you said, I’m your patient.”

“I don’t bring patients into my home, Mr. Graves,” she remarked pointedly with a snort. “I’m making a lot of exceptions with you.”

“Exceptional and unexpected circumstances, Madam,” he smiled half-heartedly. “My point is that I don’t blame you, it wasn’t your obligation to tell me something so personal.”

She nodded, taking a long sip from her tea before finally setting it down. A pause as she considered him, frowning in thought. “May I ask you? How much did you actually read off from my file?” 

“Enough to get a general idea that your ex turned out to be a Grindelwald follower, which you didn’t know, and that you were forced to follow him against your will,” he said. “I’m a quick reader, I don’t get the full details when I do my quick readings.”

“Well, you read more than Mrs. Abbott, though,” she added, huffing and crossing her arms over her chest.

They both fell silent once more, Percival watching her as he soon finished his tea as well. He could tell something was bothering her, the way she rubbed at her upper arms, her eyes staring out the window, distant, and her brow furrowed with worry. Concern and masked anxiety were written all over her features and body language. He wouldn’t blame her after being made to recall such terrible events of her past.

“Sorry you had to see me cry,” Constance finally said, voice almost a whisper, a hint of shame weighing her tone down. “Hadn’t talked of what happened in...years. Only my family and closest friends know…” she caught his gaze then, pressing her lips together and huffing. “And MACUSA and the Ministry of course but...You know, on a personal level, few people actually do.”

Percival closed his eyes briefly and shook his head. “Madam, you don’t have to tell me anything else, I feel I’ve invaded your privacy enough…” he looked to her again, gaze unwavering.

She shook her head. “You didn’t mean to.” 

“I doubted,” he said as he did before they Disapparated earlier.

“And like I said, I would have doubted too,” Constance assured him. “Do you know what I did after I was rescued? After I testified before the Wizengamot? I closed myself off, didn’t even trust my friends and family…You’re recovering faster than I did. At this point back then, I was still a bloody mess. Emotionally and mentally anyways. If my own _husband_ betrayed me, why would I trust anyone else? ” she sighed, glancing away. “It’s what I thought for a long while at least...Hard to get those nagging thoughts out of your head, right?” The question was mostly rhetorical than anything, as she didn’t look to him expecting an answer, instead her gaze remained distant in thought.

He sighed, averting his gaze to the floor instead as he nodded. Granted, he was doing better, if you took into account how unhinged he was when he was first admitted. However, he was also a good actor, Percival was so used to suppressing his emotions, always putting his work and duty first, and keeping such a private life, that it was second nature for him to suppress what he truly felt at times. He may not be the president but he was a leader nonetheless, his aurors deserved to be reassured by his guidance. It was no surprise then that the first thing he reverted back to when he began to recover was close off again. Thus it was that despite appearing calm on the outside, willing himself to seem at ease for her, on the inside he only had a storming turmoil, a newfound uneasiness that he could not be rid of.  

Suddenly she broke her silent reverie, holding up her left scarred left hand as she spoke, “You asked me once where I got these scars?”

“Hm,” he nodded, eyes inspecting the visible lines of pale scars. “And you said you got splinched.”

“I did,” she said. “It wasn’t a lie. Figured since you know so much more about me now I should tell you the whole story.”

“I’m not pressing, madam,” he reminded her reassuringly. His curiosity was not worth having her relieve awful memories.

For a moment she was quiet, recalling the day she received those scars so clearly. “It happened the day I was rescued,” she said, almost too quietly, her dark-brown eyes staring at nothing in particular, distant and lost in her memory. “Aurors raided the meeting that day...Grindelwald was the first out of there the moment the first aurors Apparated, of course. No bloody surprise there...I was barely processing what was happening I just knew spells were being fired, threw myself on the ground. An auror grabbed me to Disapparate me out of there and...Rhys must’ve seen her grab me, he was on me instantly, gripping my arm tightly the moment we began Disapparating. We...tried to shake him off and...I just remember there was unbearable pain, a pool of blood, barely felt my arm attached to my torso…”

“You got splinched trying to shake him off…” he finished for her, frowning, realizing where she was going with it. Though he’d only been splinched once before – a minor incident in comparison really – he still looked at her with sympathy, barely unable to imagine the pain of such an injury being caused by someone she used to trust and love.

“Yes. Only satisfaction is he got splinched too. Arm as well,” she replied, inspecting the scars on her hand which disappeared under the sleeve of her dress.

“And the auror?”

“Got off unscathed, thank the ancestors,” she gestured with her head towards the shelves with her collection of portraits. “Saw her in the photographs, didn’t you? The tall one. Leonie Malfoy. My best friend since we were at Hogwarts, same house and all, same year. Good lass.”

“You’re lucky to have her as a friend then,” his lip upturned in a small smirk.

“That I am. Luck of the Irish, mum would say,” she chuckled lightly. “Leonie and my parents were the first people to notice I was missing. Would have been found quicker but Grindelwald wasn’t the most famous suspect in those days, still hadn’t caused as much pain and destruction as in the last years since. Either way, Leonie and Theseus practically led the team that would rescue me, followed clues where others didn’t think to look...I owe them my life...”

“Scamander?” he turned his head lightly in question when he recognized the name.

She nodded. “Yes. Brilliant man, very skilled. Met him at Hogwarts originally, we were in different competing houses. You know him?”

“I met him during the war effort and at the last Summit of International Magical Security,” he confirmed. “We’ve corresponded since...As recent as prior to Grindelwald interfering with my life...Bastard intercepted one of our communications, so Scamander said when he wrote to me last time while I was still admitted,” he huffed, bringing a hand to his face, anxiously running his fingers along his jaw at the thought. “I was already on the Second Salemers case then, I was starting to suspect the strange activity in the city was somehow associated to them...He had once told me he had a case of an Obscurus so I wrote to him to corroborate my suspicions…”

“That’s how Grindelwald…?” Constance frowned with realization, eyes widening in horror. This was the first time she was learning of what actually happened, what led that slimy dark wizard to Mr. Graves.

He nodded, blinking rapidly. “That was the last letter I wrote before…” he swallowed hard, jaw set firmly. “Before the bastard blind sided me and...well, you know the rest more or less…” he looked away in shame upon the memory of his defeat, sighing.

“Mr. Graves…” she stood then, taking a seat next to him at the sofa. Not as a healer, no, she figured...perhaps as a friend or maybe simply someone who understood, in a way, what he suffered. “I want you to know, there is no shame...You are _not_ to blame. For anything. Grindelwald he’s...stronger than anyone could imagine...Uses methods and dark arts no one should dare touch upon…” she paused, seeking out his gaze, holding it and softly smiling at him, reassurance and sincerity in her eyes. “For what it’s worth, I think you are an exceptional man and wizard.”

He found her words relaxed him slightly. It was actually...therapeutic, in a way, he thought, to speak with someone who knew what being a prisoner to this dark wizard was like. Where he was imprisoned in a physical cage, tortured with curses, and had his identity stolen, she was imprisoned by being forced to work for Grindelwald against her will, kidnapped and controlled to act as healer for him and his cronies under the use of unforgivable curses. “Thank you, madam,” he pressed his lips together, offering a small smile before he went on, “Pardon my French but we’ve both been dealt the shit end of the stick, haven’t we?”

Constance sighed, offering a sad smile and nodding. “That we have. But we’re still here, aren’t we?”

“That counts for something. We must still have...purposes to fulfil,” he nodded and simply stared at her, losing himself in her eyes, studying her features. Gracious, and why did she stare right back, how could she be so relaxed and at ease around him? His mind drifted for a moment, wondering if–

Realizing he was getting distracted, and being quite inappropriate in his blatant staring, he suddenly cleared his throat. “I should probably get going.”

“Of course!” Constance shook her head, snapping herself out of a reverie as well, mildly ashamed in the way she had held his gaze… “Merlin’s knickers, I barely noticed the time, I’m so sorry.”

“No need to apologize, madam,” he reassured her when he stood, adjusting his jacket. “I appreciate your hospitality and…”

“...And?” she had walked over to the coat hanger, taking his coat for him, quirking a questioning eyebrow up at him.

“I did quite enjoy talking with you. You know, outside of a hospital setting,” he blurted out, mentally chastising himself. This was surely not appropriate to say to your healer...right?  

Despite his worry, she did smile, eyes crinkling with the action. “Likewise, Mr. Graves.”

He smiled right back, taking his coat from her when she offered it, slipping it back on. “One last thing, though...before I go.”

“What’s that?”

He sighed, frowning slightly as he looked down at her. “MACUSA won’t offer you witness protection at the moment.”

“Figured that myself, not surprised,” she shrugged. “They’re really stretched thin, aren’t they?”

“Point is, I can offer you such protection,” he said firmly, tone unwavering and fully committed, meaning what he stated.

“No, Mr. Graves,” instantly she shook her head, nearly glaring up at him in clear disapproval. “No, you’re on leave.”

“Madam, I won’t be able to sleep at peace at night knowing there’s escaped criminals whom you helped put behind bars out there and not know whether you’re alright on your own here,” he stated, a knot in his stomach forming at the thought of her even being stalked or hurt by those escaped assholes she had helped put in prison.

“Mr. Graves but you are stubborn…” she sighed, rubbing at her temples in frustration. Granted, she found the gesture noble and even endearing, in a way, but she didn’t want him hurt. Still, something told her he would insist...and she couldn’t deny that, deep down, fear gnawed at her. Defeated, she finally asked, “What would this imply?”

“Escorting you to your job and back home every other day, make sure nothing is off, you’re not being followed and no one intercepts you during Apparition,” he replied almost automatically – usually a set of instructions he was used to giving to other aurors.

“Seems like much more field work than a Director of Magical Security should do,” she rose her brows, crossing her arms over her chest.

Percival shrugged. “Well, you said it yourself: I’m on leave. Right now, I’m not the director of anything. I’ve time to spare to make sure you’re safe.”

Nodding, she finally caved in. After all, they were both alone and, coincidentally, both victims of Grindelwald. They could probably use the mutual support through these dangerous times, he was still technically in danger as well. “Fine. I’ll send you an owl with my schedule, you may accompany me on my busiest days. Tomorrow being one of them so, I shall see you in the morning? 7 am?”

He nodded. “You shall, madam.”

“Constance,” she corrected him, a small smirk playing at the corner of her lips when he burrowed his brow questioningly at her. “I think we’re actually past the point of so much propriety, especially if I’ll continue seeing you much more frequently than I anticipated.”

“You’re my healer, though,” he reminded her, though he quirked an almost playful eyebrow at her.

She shrugged, “And yet you broke the rules just to defend me. That’s not what good patients do. Good patients don’t tend to offer witness protection to their healers either. Or know so much of their healer’s personal life.”

“Point taken,” he chuckled. “In that case, it’s Percival to you.”

Nodding, she smiled briefly before she sobered up, worry for him bubbling up to the surface. “Sure you’re ready to return to your home, Percival?” It was strange using his first name, yet she couldn’t deny she quite liked it.

He hesitated but nodded nonetheless. “I’ll be fine, Constance,” he reassured her, her name rolling naturally off his tongue, as if he’d meant for quite some time to just say it.

“Right,” she sighed but nodded nonetheless. After all, he must be eager to get to his home, even if it was where he had been kept prisoner… “You know where to find me if...you need anything, yes?” 

“I appreciate it,” he smirked half-heartedly, his deep-burrowed fear betraying him, daring to allow anxiety to begin cracking through into the surface. “I’ll see you in the morning, rest up.”

“You too...”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope everyone is enjoying so far! This is going on longer than I thought but I'm enjoying writing this so much! Chapter 7 is already on its way ;) And hey Connie's a Slytherin (cuz damn if it bothers me how rowling criminalized a whole house! ilu rowling but really)! Considering there are so many OCs in this fic, I'll be doing a fan-cast post on my blog eventually uvu and yes Leonie Malfoy might be making an actual appearance later on ;) Thanks again to everyone that's commented and left kudos, I appreciate it so much! Comments and kudos are love guys, lemme know what you think! <3
> 
> blog: animarosa.tumblr.com
> 
> PS. Oh right, new banner! Hope you guys like it uvu


End file.
